


Jack and the Hunters

by cmut (confiscatedretina)



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Drinking, Ceremonial Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, but not very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confiscatedretina/pseuds/cmut
Summary: The Imakandi hunters deliver a cure for the poison which brought Jack down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd do it and I have! Here's the alien catman/samurai fivesome nobody asked for. I'm sorry (but not very). Enjoy!

Claw-tipped fingers stroke his cheek and the samurai opens one bloodshot eye to see a leonine face too close, its nostrils flared as if breathing him in. He gasps and wills himself to action but something burns through his veins; all he manages is the twitch of one loose hand.

“Be at ease,” the Imakandi blurring in and out of his focus rumbles. “We are done with the hunt. You are in no danger.”

“Aku…?” his voice is hoarse and groggy.

“You are not his,” another gruff voice says nearby. “He did not hunt you. He is not worthy of your capture.”

Belated, the warrior realizes he is being carried. Heat from the Imakandi’s arms and chest is a comfort which makes his skin tingle. Incongruously, the careful jostling of each footfall makes his stomach churn and the man can’t hold in the weak groan which crawls from his parched throat.

“Soon, warrior,” the voice rumbles through him, soothing and strange at once. “We are only looking for a place of safety where you will not be found.”

“That is good…?” his vision blurs and all of his senses focus on the Imakandi’s blue eyes, a light in nauseating shadows.

“That is up to you.”

“What…do you mean?” his eyes are drifting shut once more.

“There are some who would rather die than accept what we offer you. If that is your wish, we will honor you with a swift death and place your bones where all may see in our home shrine.”

Pain throbs in his hand and the samurai remembers fangs sinking deep, wind rushing past as he fell.

“No. I cannot…cannot die. My quest…” 

“Do you wish the poison’s cure without knowing what it is?” there’s a smile in the voice over his head. “Some creatures take it poorly.”

“It is…better than death in…disgrace…”

“That is our thought also. We will do you honor in the giving, warrior. Your hunt has given us great pleasure. It is only right that we return the favor. We cannot claim your body as trophy but we will carry some of your spirit home with us, and you ours.”

Pleasure? He tries to remember any time in which the antidote to a poison was pleasant but his memories are vague, scurrying things. He can’t grasp any one long enough to recall and soon forgets them altogether in the warmth of the Imakandi’s body. His cheek is at rest on a toned shoulder and he can feel the muscle and bone gliding beneath bristled fur. Unthinking, the man breathes deep of his captor’s scent: vaguely feline, touched with sweat and the dry smell of alien grasses, almost familiar. The Imakandi chuckles, the sound seeming to roll through his bones, easing the ache in his body.

“He is too close,” the alien says. “Much more delay and it will be too late.”

“Here, then,” rumbles another. “It is dry, at least. His false pelt should be comfort enough.”

Blue flickering light flares outside the samurai’s closed eyes as he is laid on cool hard earth. Immediately he begins to shiver but he is too weak even to curl around himself for warmth. Hands deftly unwrap his obi and he groans as they part his gi. Cold air on his skin is delight and agony both, raising the hair on his skin and stirring a heat in his gut. More chuffing laughs echo around him as hands burn a trail down his bare chest, his muscled abdomen, fingers hooking in his fundoshi…

“What…?” he groans as another pair of hands cup his cheeks.

Through slit eyelids he sees the Imakandi peering down at him. “You are dying, warrior. This is not how we prefer it done, but you must take our spirits now, before yours is gone.”

The hands lift his head just enough and he sees alien faces ringed about him, limned in the blue fire of their magical shield. More hands gently stroke lines of fire between his spread thighs. His undergarments are gone and, squinting, he can see a pale spear of flesh at the ready.

“Do you understand?” the Imakandi gently lowers his head. “We will not cure you if you do not wish it.”

He groans, shivering. “Do what is needed…”

The Imakandi settles behind the man and rests his head on naked, bristle-furred legs. Fingers run down the samurai’s unresisting shoulders and chest in a warm, soothing caress. Others brush patterns over his ribs, his thighs, every bit of skin they can reach. He feels a body hovering over him, unsettled that he is too weak to do anything but succumb to what is about to happen.

Strong, calloused palms grip his buttocks and lift, the Imakandi at his sides aiding their companion by supporting the samurai’s lower torso. Hot breath gusts against his bared throat and a tongue like a cat’s drags over his windpipe a moment before something pushes abruptly inside him. Surprised, the man grunts as a foreign heat fills him and begins to thrust. Mercifully, the Imakandi are not as cat-like as they appear and he feels no barbs, only stretched and full. Sweat beads on his chilled skin.

The Imakandi holding his head makes a low, rumbling purr, gently running padded thumbs over the samurai’s jaw in alien comfort. Between his thighs the man feels every point of contact between him and the alien hot and rough. Teeth prick at his throat and he whimpers as the intruder growls. Something spurts inside him, foreign but oddly soothing. The Imakandi chuffs and licks the drops of blood from his neck before carefully lowering the samurai’s hips. A mouth presses to his lips, salt taste of blood on the tongue which caresses his blunted teeth. Through blurred senses, he feels that tongue scrape against one of his own teeth until a new taste, similar but subtly different from that of his own blood, fills his mouth. Shivering without, burning within, he explores the Imakandi’s razor teeth on instinct, feeling a resonant purr pass into his own throat and nose just before the strange kiss is broken.

The first to penetrate him is replaced by another and the sensations of fullness, quick thrusts, and relief are repeated. This one drags his rough tongue over the man’s chest before repeating what seems to be a ceremonial kiss, waiting for the samurai to exchange breathe and blood before withdrawing. The dull ache of the poison is beginning to fade now and the man is slowly becoming more lucid. A third Imakandi enters him with less friction than his brothers and it feels almost good. After a fourth has kissed him, the first Imakandi parts the man’s lips and dips two fingers in his mouth. Something new, rich and slick, is pressed to the samurai’s tongue and he sucks at the fingers without thinking.

“Very good, warrior,” the Imakandi cradling his head chuckles.

His face is gently turned as the Imakandi shifts. The samurai keeps his eyes closed as hot, soft skin is guided into his mouth. Through a fog of sensation and the poison’s lingering shroud, he runs his tongue over the smooth shaft as claws comb through his tangled black hair. This experience is entirely new but the Imakandi doesn’t seem to mind. He purrs encouragement, his rough fingers stroking the man’s chin as he works toward their mutual goal of his release. Around them, the others continue to touch and enter him, murmuring encouragement. When release comes to the hunter, the samurai chokes in surprise as a thick salty tang hits the back of his throat. A firm hand keeps his head in place.

“You need this,” murmurs the Imakandi.

Taking a deep breath through his nose he obeys and swallows hard. Gasping when his mouth is suddenly free, he allows his head to be rolled back and tries to focus on the fingers running down his neck. He has lost count of the Imakandi between his legs but he feels warm, sticky, and sore in an strangely pleasant way.

“How do you feel?” one asks beside and above him.

“I…am not sure,” the samurai says, eyes still closed.

A claw pricks his splayed, open palm and the man’s fingers dart closed, capturing the finger. The Imakandi laugh.

“Good, good. You will live to foil the hunters of this world.”

“Have you finished, then?” he sounds tired even to himself, but only bone-weary now, no longer weak and fading.

“Only one thing more,” says the Imakandi cradling his head. “You gave us great pleasure in the hunt, warrior. I brought you down, so it is my honor to return our pleasure to you and carry your spirit within me.”

His head is rested on the cool ground for but a moment before another Imakandi lifts it into his warm, wet lap. Between his legs, the honored hunter wets two fingers in the cooling liquid between the man’s buttocks. These fingers slide inside easily and the samurai is about to sigh when they reach deeper, touching something that sends sparks dancing behind his eyes. He groans, a low and wanting sound he’s never heard from himself.

“Very good, yes?” the Imakandi is smiling.

Before the man can reply, a hot mouth wraps around the part of him he’s been ignoring. He’s never felt anything like it, heat and wetness swallowing every inch of him, a coarse tongue gently laving at overly-sensitive skin. The Imakandi bobs between his legs, cool air contrasting with hot breath until the samurai’s world is reduced to nothing but the feel of a mouth around him and fingers rubbing perfectly inside. His hips twitch upward in a weak, instinctive motion.

Sweat beads on the man’s brow. Just as he is nearing his climax, the Imakandi slows, drawing out his motions until the fire inside cools just enough, then begins anew. The other Imakandi run their hands over him more, caressing and licking nipples that have grown hard and sensitive. He is a panting, writhing mess under their ministrations, every nerve a lyre’s string they pluck with skill.

“Please,” he moans, hands clenching and unclenching helplessly; he has never begged for anything in his life.

Fingers inside him thrust hard and strike true. The Imakandi swallows him so fully that the man feels whiskers on his skin. Teeth graze his straining muscles just enough to sing a perfect note of sensation through his veins. His hips buck and a drawn-out rasp, quiet but full of meaning, flies from his open, gasping mouth. His body spasms, pouring everything he has so fully into the Imakandi’s throat that his vision blacks out.

The samurai comes to his senses weak and panting. Only the relief of a battle truly finished can compare to this, the moment when all his muscles at last relax and the tension is gone from the air. But this…he feels a strange calm down to his bones. Wet lips that taste of human and alien press to his in a final kiss.

“Thank you,” the samurai murmurs as the world grows soft at its edges.

“We will tell our cubs of this hunt,” the Imakandi between his legs says. “Thank you, warrior.”

Hours later, he will wake with a start not far from where they first found him, dressed and clean but with his hair flowing over his shoulders like a proud lion’s mane. The honored hunter who brought him down will speak to the samurai a final time through blue flame, a reassurance that no Imakandi will hunt him again.

Now, the samurai drifts into a heavy, sated sleep as the Imakandi don their clothes and wrap his gi loosely about him. His last memory is of being lifted and cradled once more in the warm arms of a hunter.


End file.
